Achenar's Problem
by grab bag
Summary: Yuletide 09 for Scott/feverbeats. pre-Myst. While staying in the Channelwood Age, Sirus discusses his brother Achenar's most recent unsettling behavior with Atrus, but the brothers are not all that different from each other.


"Father? May I speak with you?"

Atrus glanced up from his writing to see his youngest son standing in the doorway of the study. He noticed for the first time that Sirus was getting tall; the top of his head reached to the highest shelf of books that lined the room.

"Yes, what is it?"

Sirus narrowed his eyes and looked around the room. His gaze settled on a pair of twin books on Atrus' desk, crimson and sapphire, before he stepped into the room and addressed his father.

"It's about Achenar. I've been concerned about his behavior recently."

Atrus set his pen down and tore his attention from the book in front of him, although it worried him to do so.

"You are referring to the business with the birds, I presume?"

Sirus nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm afraid that the natives in the Channelwood Age were rather…unsettled by the whole thing. I myself am not sure what to think in light of it. I fear that Achenar might have a…a problem. That he might be disturbed." He shuddered, presumably at the memory of the fate of the five or six songbirds Achenar had kept in a wicked looking cage in his treetop room. It had not been a pretty sight, and lingering evidence refused to disappear, even after a whole week. The bloody feathers that had not fallen to the water below or been borne off by the breeze clung to the aerial bridges here and there, and there were still murmurs among the people about the tiny inhuman screams that had been heard from Achenar's room.

Atrus nodded grimly. "I'm worried too, Sirus. I do intend to speak with him about it. But perhaps it would be best, for now, if you two went and stayed in the Mechanical Age for some time. Catch up with your experiments there, give the natives a chance to forget about the whole mess. I'm afraid I can't leave my work right now, but I'll talk to the Eldest and see if I can't straighten things out."

Sirus's eyes flashed for a moment. "A wise decision, Father. I'll tell Achenar to prepare to Link back to Myst Island?"

Atrus removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Yes. I really must get back to work now. I trust you can Link there on your own?"

The boy worked hard to keep his excitement under control.

"Yes, Father. We'll leave in the morning."

"Fine. Good night, Sirus."

"Good night, Father."

The door to the study closed with a dry click as Atrus hunched back over the book he was working on. The reparations he was making to Riven might be keeping the world alive, but it was still getting weaker every day. He could not afford to lose time.

* * *

Sirus entered Achenar's room without knocking, and was unsurprised to find he was not there. There were still bloodstains on many of the surfaces, and what might have been a piece of wing, or beak, but Sirus ignored them. He pushed a button on a large metal device in the center of the room. Achenar's head appeared, floating in midair hologram and just showing the beginnings of a dark, patchy beard. It spoke in a rough, guttural tongue, but Sirus waved his hands impatiently.

"Yes, yes, very impressive, shut up," he said to himself, pushing a series of buttons. After a moment the head disappeared, and a white light shone onto Sirus's face, illuminating odd shadows onto the walls behind Achenar's effects. He began speaking, looking directly at the source of the light.

"Achenar. I've spoken to Father. We are to leave for the Mechanical Age in the morning. You _must_ collect the protection tribute. Threaten them if you have to, although your little stunt with the birds will probably have softened them up. But it must be done _tonight_, do you understand?"

Sirus paused, then added, "And we'll be Linking by ourselves. I trust you will be prepared for our first independent…visit to the people of the Mechanical Age. Until tomorrow, brother."

He pressed another button and the light switched off. The sharp iron tools and dark bodily ornaments fell out of relief with the lack of light, and Sirus stood in the shadows, listening for footsteps and eavesdroppers.

There was nothing. The villagers were taking the hint and staying far away from the elder brother's quarters. Good.

Turning on his heel, Sirus strode back across the damp planks of the wooden bridges to his own room. He placed his ear to the door, and opened it when he was sure it was safe.

Entering, he moved to his desk and began to assemble the things he would need to bring with him to the Mechanical Age.

A chirp from the corner of the room drew his attention to a small wooden cage on the dresser. It stood next to a wide-mouthed fishbowl that contained a dark grey fish, a native of the Age swimming lazily in circles next to its new neighbor. The songbird in the cage came with a note, which Sirus lifted to the light.

_Sirus—the one you asked me to save.  
She might have lost a few feathers, though.  
–Achenar_

He examined the bird in the cage; sure enough, most of the long flight feathers on the left wing were missing, dried beads of blood matted in the fine down that was left. Other than that, however, it was in fine condition. Perfect.

Sirus pulled a chair over to his dresser and sat staring at the bird for a long while. Finally, a gleam passed through his eyes and he nodded slowly.

Reaching his hand out, he stuck his fist into the fishbowl, grasping at the slippery animal until his long fingers finally closed on the tail. Pinching tightly, he lifted his hand into the air, bringing the fish to eye level. The bird began to twitter loudly.

The fish thrashed, eyes bulging, mouth opening in silent screams as the gills pulsed fruitlessly, but Sirus held tight. After a long couple of minutes the squirming slowed, the mouth gaped less frequently, and as the bird chattered away, the fish became still.

Sirus placed the fish down on the dresser. Turning to the bird, he lifted the cage just as he had the fish. The bird hopped in place, chirping more frantically now, as if it knew what was in store for it. With a splash, Sirus dropped the bird, cage and all, into the fishbowl.

The bird's chirping was immediately silenced, but it struggled and beat in the water, holding its head as high as it could, frantic. It made no difference. The dried blood sullied the water and the feathers soaked and stuck together in points. After a minute the fighting stopped, and the eyes glazed over as the bird sank to the bottom of the cage. Sirus smiled.

After a moment, when the last twitches of the bird had long subsided, he removed the bird from the cage and placed it next to the fish. Sirus stared for a long while, then rose, taking them in his hand. He moved to the window of his room and tossed the pair, a dry fish and a drowned bird, out into the night. He heard a splash below, and pursed his lips, knowing the current of the water would take them far away, and nobody would find anything suspicious about one dead fish and one dead bird with no blood, no marks at all.

Sirus allowed a feeling of pride to accompany his secret smile as he resumed his packing. Achenar might very well be "disturbed," as Atrus suspected. He might indeed even have "a problem," although Sirus did not truly believe so. Achenar was good at what he did, gruesome as it was, and it achieved what he needed it to achieve. But for all that, he, Sirus, was better.

His older brother's real problem was not cruelty.  
It was sloppiness.


End file.
